


REMEMBERING SUNDAY

by TopherIsATribble



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Angst, Drinking, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopherIsATribble/pseuds/TopherIsATribble
Summary: GOB can't get past it. Can't get past him. Title from Remembering Sunday by All Time Low.





	REMEMBERING SUNDAY

GOB lifts the beer to his lips, taking a sip. It’s bitter, but weak, and the taste makes him grimace, but he swallows anyway. Beer has never really been his drink of choice, not even as a teen. He was still rich enough then to pay for the harder stuff, and even now he’ll only touch beer as a last resort. This time, it happened to be the only thing in the model home, and even then, it’s barely enough to get a buzz going. He wishes he had the harder stuff. He could go for a bottle of Jack right about now.

He looks at the bottle in hand, grimacing once more before chugging the rest and throwing it against the wall where it shatters. He groans, sprawling out over the couch as he lays a forearm over his eyes after closing them. That night replays in his head, over and over and over and he just can’t take it. But he’s out of Forget-Me-Nows, and he has no way to make it stop. The same name that runs through his head makes his heart pound, hard and fast, just like-

He grunts, trying to force it out of his mind. No. That was over, wasn’t it? No more. It wasn’t meant to be. Besides, GOB was never one to feel anything more than lust or disdain for anybody. No. This wasn’t going to go anywhere.

GOB sighs as he pulls himself out of his sprawled position, making his way to the refrigerator for the last beer, four other bottles on the counter. As he looks at them, he somehow feels angry; they’re sitting there, mocking him: We taste fucking awful, but you want to get hammered, so you’ll try us, but you’re not even going to really get buzzed! Ha-Ha-Ha! WONDER if you’ll do anyth-

He doesn’t yet open the door of the refrigerator; instead, he takes his arm and swipes the bottles down off the counter with a yell that’s much like a cry of agony, though he isn’t bleeding. They too shatter on the floor and GOB’s knees buckle. He sinks down onto the kitchen floor beside the broken glass, and soon, his face feels wet. Is this what it feels like to cry? He’s so lost he can’t remember.

He hangs his head and closes his eyes, a hand settling on the glass and small cuts finding their way upon his palm. He hisses at the sting, but barely; his energy all came out with the cry before smashing the bottles. Besides, the sting is a welcome physical reprieve from the pain that he’s somehow been feeling all throughout his body and his head and his heart without seeing a single wound to justify it. It’s nice to have something he can see and show and say to someone “This is hurting me.”

Behind his closed eyes he sees the same thing, same person that’s caused all these wounds and pain and he swallows.

Tony.


End file.
